


Seasons for Loving Slowly

by 852_Prospect_Archivist



Category: The Sentinel
Genre: First Times, M/M, Plot What Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-10
Updated: 2013-05-10
Packaged: 2017-12-11 00:09:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,446
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/791769
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/852_Prospect_Archivist/pseuds/852_Prospect_Archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jim takes it slow.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Seasons for Loving Slowly

**Author's Note:**

> So, the posting interface is going to chop this into funny-sized bits and I don't trust myself to post _without_ the interface, and I hope you all don't mind. :) Send feedback of any sort to randomxtangent@aol.com! 

## Seasons for Loving Slowly

by Tangent

Author's disclaimer: They're not mine and never will be, no matter how many falling stars I wish upon. 

* * *

Blair stomped down the path, his hair bouncing and hands flying, the dust of crumpled leaves floating in his wake. Jim followed sedately, kind of listening to Blair ramble angrily about the Dean and her asinine policies, mostly just imagining the emotions rushing through his body and over his expressive face. Now his eyes will be scrunched up, he thought, imagining the looks on Blair's face with ease. Now his mouth is pursed, and now he's cracking his knuckles like _that's_ intimidating. 

Blair kicked at leaves, muttering, then spun around to face Jim, walking backwards. "Do you think I'm being a moron about this, Jim?" he asked, but that look was in his eyes like it didn't matter what Jim said, of _course_ he wasn't being a moron. 

So Jim said, "Of course you're not being a moron, Chief," hoping that was all Blair'd require of him and now that it was said, they could go out for dinner and forget about the Dean. The sky was hard and incredibly blue, the way it only gets in autumn, and it hadn't rained in a week. Major Crimes had been quiet and Simon had been in an expansively good mood--in fact, all of Cascade seemed to have settled into the wait for winter with remarkable good cheer. 

All but Blair and the Dean, anyway. 

Blair threw his hands up and nodded emphatically. "You're right. I'm not being a moron. I am totally--argh." He shook his head, sending his hair in a million different directions, obviously frustrated. "I'm acting like a three year old." 

Jim figured he knew what the response to that statement was supposed to be. "No, you're not," he said. "You're acting like a man who bumped up against the brick wall of politics." 

"And then threw a hissy-fit when it didn't crumble for him." Blair rolled his eyes. "Admit it, Jim. I need to just let this go, right?" 

Jim nodded, but before he could say anything, Blair stumbled. His eyes widened and Jim reached out but it was too late--an exposed root had caught his heel and he was going down. Fortunately, there was enough leaf cover on the ground beside the path to break his fall with a gentle _whoomph_. 

For a second, Jim just stood there and Blair kind of flopped around in the pile of leaves. Then, cautiously, he opened one eye. "I'm ok," he said, but it was kind of a question. Jim nodded, but he wasn't so certain. 

"Hurt anywhere?" he asked, not wanting to pull Blair out of the leaves until he was _sure_ that the kid was all right. 

"Absolutely nowhere." Blair patted the leaves and grinned. His blue eyes were gleaming now, not with anger but with amusement. Jim, accepting that he was all right, reached down to pull him up. 

"What was I just saying about being a three year old?" Blair said, brushing crumbled leaves off the back of his pants and shirt. 

Jim plucked a few leaves out of his hair, with a little regret. For some reason they looked good in there, picking up the red and yellow highlights in the brown curls, making Blair look young and playful. Fall suits the kid, he thought. In color, anyway. In scent, too. All day he'd been picking up wood smoke scents and cinnamon scents, and the Blair scents just kind of blended in harmoniously. 

Then again, that tended to happen anyway. He'd never met anyone who just smelled so good, almost all the time. At least in recent weeks, which Jim figured had something to do with the fact that Blair's mouth looked incredibly kissable lately, and Blair's skin seemed touchable, and the hair on Blair's chest seemed sexy, and the fact that he was a little pigeon-toed seemed incredibly endearing. 

Pheromones, he thought, pulling a final leaf out of his partner's hair, tuning out Blair's now amused chatter. Can't beat the biological sucker punch. 

Then he realized that Blair was saying his name. 

"Sorry," he murmured, taking a step back and a deep breath. The crisp fall-and-Blair scents filled his nostrils and he couldn't help but grin a little. Blair's face relaxed and for a moment they just looked at each other, smiling, thinking their own thoughts but undoubtedly on the same track. 

"Thanks for listening to me ramble," Blair said quietly, reaching out to squeeze Jim's shoulder. 

Jim shrugged a little, focused on the warmth of Blair's hand, focused on controlling his body's instinctive reaction to that warmth of even a little, companionable clasp--which was, basically, a demand that Jim should go on and seek out _more_ of that same touch. 

"You make me talk all the time," he said. "Besides, I'm kinda used to the sound of your voice. Like you get used to bugs after a few weeks in the rain forest." 

Blair laughed, squeezed Jim's shoulder a little tighter. "I love the way you talk sweet to me," he said before dropping his hand. Jim thought, you don't even know, Chief, but smiled instead of saying it, then turned to walk towards the truck. Telling the kid things like that would have to wait a while, until he was sure that this new thing, this spark of attraction, wasn't just an unusual reaction to something he'd eaten or whatever. Wait until he was sure it was going to last. 

"What do you want for dinner?" he asked, already knowing the kid would say something incredibly random and unpalatable and then he'd decide on Wonderburger and they'd compromise on Indian food, or Thai. 

"I was thinking we should check out that vegetarian bar," Blair said with enthusiasm, making Jim grin. 

"Over my dead body," he said contentedly, enjoying the minor argument as he always did. 

"That's exactly what it will be if you don't cut back on the red meat," Blair said as he hopped into the truck, shedding a few more leaves on the way. Jim picked one up and slipped it into the visor while Blair was putting on his seatbelt, not knowing why it seemed a good idea to have a memento of an ordinary day but wanting it anyway. Then he started the engine and argued the benefits of beef, settling in to enjoy the evening. 

* * *

The new year began with a snowstorm. More than a foot fell in the city, blanketing everything, keeping people inside their homes. For a while, Cascade was so quiet and calm that it was hard to believe the city was ever pulsing and noisy with life, and Jim basked in the silence. 

After dinner, Blair lit the vanilla candles that Jim liked, the ones that were so inoffensive they became white noise for his nose, and Jim relaxed on the couch. Blair sat on the table, bumping their knees companionably, his hands resting on Jim's legs because Jim needed the touch to keep him centered. He talked quietly, constantly, and Jim opened his senses up. 

Thousands of quiet conversations. Televisions. People arguing, children laughing, babies crying. Radios. The ocean bumping against the shore and rushing apologetically backwards. Simon, talking to the Mayor on the phone. Snow plows chewing through the roads and clearing small paths. Flakes of snow hitting one another, hitting the ground. Underneath all that, Blair's voice, keeping him just on the edge of a zone out, urging him to hear more but stay focused. 

It was like exercising. Warm up, work hard, feel the rush of a good work out, feel the burn of exhaustion. Eventually, when his sense of hearing had gotten so acute that he could listen in on conversations taking place far beyond the borders of Cascade, he shut it down. Opened his eyes. 

Blair was smiling at him, proud. "Further than ever before, man," he said, and Jim nodded. His muscles felt weak, wrung out, and only when he dropped his hands to his sides did he become aware that he'd wrapped them around Blair's wrists. As soon as his hands were free, Blair was patting his shaking shoulders, touching the back of his suddenly weak neck. With a groan, Jim dropped his head, closed his eyes, and let Blair reassure them both that everything was just fine. 

"Let's work on sight," Blair said after a few minutes, but Jim had had enough. He opened one eye, glared, shut it again. Blair laughed, said, "Ok, let's not," and bounced off the coffee table to the door. "You wanna come play in the snow?" 

Jim thought about it for a minute. He didn't _really_ want to go outside, but...well, maybe he did. He opened both eyes, stretched, yawned, rose. He felt tired, in a mostly good way, and kind of loose-limbed and young. He ambled to the door and shrugged into his coat, smiled at Blair as the kid put on an extra sweater, his coat, two scarves, a pair of leather gloves and the thick mittens Naomi had sent him. They looked ridiculous on his big, strong hands, but Blair hadn't left the loft this winter without putting them on, even though they usually ended up in his pockets, or in Jim's. 

They had barely gotten outside before Blair was flat on his back on the sidewalk, arms and legs spread out and pushing through the snow. 

"Snow angels, man," he crowed triumphantly, held out a hand so Jim could pull him up. "The absolute best part of winter." 

"Better than Christmas? Better than hot chocolate? Better a blazing fire?" Jim helped him brush off his back and shoulders. "Better than mittens?" 

"Well, all right, so maybe not better than mittens. But pretty good anyway." 

Looking down at the Sandburg sized angel, Jim had to admit that maybe Blair was right. At least for the moment. He'd think of something better, later. 

They trudged through the snow, talking idly about all the things Jim had heard, hauling each other out of places where the snow became deeper unexpectedly. After a few minutes, they walked in silence, just enjoying the cold air and the serenity that had settled over Cascade. 

These were the times Jim liked best. When he and Blair could just be quiet and comfortable, when the world left them alone for a little bit. Of course, he'd been left alone before, in the times before Blair came--he'd been left alone a lot then. But he'd never felt as comfortable. Blair was interesting when Jim was in the mood for him to be interesting, and quiet when Jim was in the mood for quiet. Or maybe it was the other way around--when Blair wanted to talk, Jim wanted to listen, and when Blair wanted to wallow in peace, so did Jim. 

Maybe a mix of both, he thought, figuring that was the best deal he'd gotten in his whole life. 

Eventually, Blair started a snowball fight, which wasn't unexpected. Jim's aim was better and he made huge snowballs, but Blair was fast, and he fought dirty. Snow went down the back of Jim's jacket and shirt, down the back of his pants during one unguarded moment, so Jim just had to tackle his partner. They landed in a snowbank and Blair laughed like a hyena. 

"You totally win," he managed between chuckles, squirming, losing his hat in the process. "Let me up, come on. I'll freeze down here." 

And Jim said, "I'll keep you warm," then lowered his head. 

Blair's mouth was warm despite the cold, his little surprised noises were interesting, his taste still sweet from dessert, sweet because it was his. Jim held his face with both hands, felt the cold, wet mittens wrap around his neck, one of his wrists. Blair pulled him closer, closer, and Jim went willingly. For a first kiss, it was good--none of the awkwardness Jim might have suspected he would feel, kissing another man, kissing his partner. It was like he'd known how to kiss Blair forever, and it was just...good. 

"So was that better than snow angels?" he asked when he came up for air. Blair laughed again, his whole body into it while Jim got to his feet, pulled him up. For a minute, Blair rested against him, his cold nose tucked into the curve of Jim's shoulder, still laughing. 

"Maybe it was," he said finally. "But you should have brushed your teeth after dinner." 

For that crack, Jim just had to whitewash him. 

* * *

Blair went to a Beltane celebration with friends, and Jim prowled the streets of Cascade in the truck, waiting for his cellphone to ring, waiting to hear Blair's happy, excited voice. He'd heard about nothing but Beltane for at least a week and as far as he was concerned, the sooner this particular celebration was over, the better. Not that he really _minded_ listening to Blair...it was more the principle of the thing. 

Although what principle, and what thing...well, he wasn't sure. But he _was_ sure that he'd be glad when he had Blair's full attention again, and he wasn't ashamed to admit it--much. To himself. Only when he was alone and _feeling_ that aloneness. 

So, basically, he'd only admitted to himself that he was jealous of the attention this holiday was getting from his partner when said partner was already gone to enjoy it and it was too late to either make better plans or horn in. As usual, Jim's timing sucked. 

But it couldn't be all bad. Really. Sure, his allergies were acting up and every crazy in three states had made a trip to Cascade, and Blair was busily away with the Wiccans, and Simon had asked him if the tension he sensed between Jim and Blair was a prelude to the kid moving out again when to Megan it was _obviously_ sexual-- 

But it's not all bad, he told himself sharply. The allergies aren't so bad. And all the crazies are at least temporarily behind bars or quietly enjoying themselves and their plots. Simon doesn't think there's some crazy sex thing going on, and Megan doesn't _know_ there's a crazy almost-sex thing going on. Best of all, when Blair is all done dancing naked with the Wiccans, he'll go back to the loft with you and you can indulge in some almost-sex together. 

That made him feel better, and for the first time since he had dropped Blair off, he smiled. Rolled down his window and turned on the radio. 

With no one in the passenger seat to look at him funny, he sang along with everything he knew, and most of the stuff he didn't. He let the nearly warm night air seep into his skin and ignored the pollen that came with it. There was a little bit of moisture in the atmosphere, and the wind felt velvety. It was a good night. 

And could only get better. 

He bought two burgers at Wonderburger and ate them while driving, grinning maniacally as he imagined the disgusted look on Blair's face. Then a trip to the rental place, where he picked up two of the action/adventure movies that he loved and Blair made fun of at every opportunity. Final destination, the grocery store. A pint of ice cream and a bag of the cookies Blair claimed to hate but always snuck into his room, and he was back on the road. 

It was good to be alone, knowing that it was only temporary. He had tried before to imagine life without Blair, completely empty of the kid's hair and knowing eyes, his flying hands and intelligent voice, his new cleanliness and old, old enthusiasm--and it was impossible. That was why he took everything so slowly, knowing it was incredibly frustrating, and not just for him. He was sure, finally, had been since the first flower of spring had bloomed and Blair had gotten that dreamy look on his face that came so often now and said, "It was a good winter, Jim." 

It had been. The best winter of _his_ life, anyway. 

But Blair was...Blair. Younger. Affectionate. Freewheeling. Respectful of other people's feelings to such a degree that he often ignored his own. Jim kept them on the edge of true intimacy for Blair's sake, because he needed to be sure that Blair was _sure_ , and because it gave him time...to adjust. To grow used to wanting a man. To appreciate more and more the strength that was inherent in Blair's mind and body, to enjoy how he was so utterly different from a woman but just as much fun to kiss. 

His phone rang, finally, and he U-turned, fought the urge to put on the lights. 

"Ellison," he said, already smiling, anticipating. 

"Jim." Blair sounded just right, happy to be talking to him, a little tired but definitely flying with adrenaline. Jim was pleased to have pegged him so perfectly, right up until Blair said, "Jim, I think I'm going to stay over with Sara tonight. We're just having too much fun to end the party yet, and I don't want you waiting around for me." 

Jim blinked. Sara. The redhead with the gorgeous legs and a voice that always seemed on the edge of a giggle. "But I'm on my way," he said, trying not to sound petulant. 

"Shit, man, I'm sorry." And Blair _did_ sound sorry. "But we're having a blast. I just don't want you out too late waiting for me, or worrying about where I am and how I'm going to get home." 

"You can't just call a cab?" Jim said, knowing that it was a stupid idea before Blair said, "Jim, that's not going to work. I'm in the middle of the woods, here!" 

But...I want you at home, Jim thought, and didn't say. Hadn't he already decided to take it slow with Blair, for just this reason? 

Sounds filtered through, Blair-walking-through-mud sounds. His voice, when it came again, was low and intense. "Listen to me, Jim. Don't have a panic attack. Sara is a friend, of the platonic variety, and she knows that I have feelings for you. _You_ know I have feelings for you. Don't make this into something more than it is." 

And Jim found that maybe he didn't have to. Sometime when he was looking, trust had bloomed along with the friendship and the lust, and the trust seemed...absolute. Blair said he wanted Jim, and that meant Jim didn't have to worry. Blair said he was doing something to be considerate, and Jim was reassured that it was nothing more, and nothing less. 

"All right," he said, trying to keep his voice casual when all he wanted to do was shout, Blair! I trust you. Do you know how hard that is for me? "I'll see you in the morning, Chief." 

"Bright and early," Blair said, and his voice was cheery again. "Thank you, Jim." 

The line disconnected and Jim dropped his phone on the seat beside him. He felt--he didn't know how to describe it, but it was damn good. It was like having Blair on the couch beside him watching TV, and Blair at the table eating dinner with him, and Blair kissing him--all at once. He vaguely recalled feeling the same way a long time ago, when Caroline had moved in, but maybe maturity had left him better able to appreciate the feeling or maybe he felt with more depth, because this was _different_. This was all-encompassing. 

This was good. 

He headed back towards the loft, smiling like a moron and not caring, holding Blair's promise of bright and early in his heart like a light. 

* * *

With summer came a long string of unexpected heat waves. Between them they'd spent more than five years living in rain forests and other humid jungle places, but city heat is different. Plants sagged instead of thriving and Blair had asthma attacks, which he'd always thought he'd conquered as a teenager. After a week of watching Blair reach for his inhaler with misery written all over his face, Jim finally got fed up and marched into Simon's office. 

"I'm taking off," he announced, and Simon arched an eyebrow at him. 

"What makes you think so?" 

"The fact that we've solved more cases this week than any other cops in the city, putting in nearly twenty hours of overtime in the process and finishing all the paperwork on time." Jim crossed his arms over his chest, knowing he looked sullen but too damn hot to care. Simon worked a cigar between his fingers for a few seconds, then nodded. 

"Go," he said before reaching into his desk for a set of keys, which he tossed to Jim. "You know where the cabin is. Don't come in tomorrow. If I see your grumpy-ass face in this building, I'll suspend you." 

Jim grinned a little, shook the keys. "Right, sir." Then he headed back into the bullpen and hustled Blair out the door and back to the loft. In less than an hour, they had packed overnight bags, eaten lunch and driven past the city limits. By dinnertime, they were sitting on the end of the long dock that stretched into the little pond that bordered Simon's property. It was still hot, but the air was clear and Blair was breathing easily. Jim was enjoying the nature smells, enjoying the fact that he was free of sweaty humans and baking pavement. 

"This," Blair said contentedly, "is exactly what we needed." He leaned against Jim, which was nice--it had been so hot that they hadn't been able to stand touching each other for a few days. Even considering just how well they'd adapted to near-constant contact, the sense of deprivation had been intense. 

And thinking about that made Jim say, "I can think of something I need more," and his voice was so low and gritty that it surprised him, but Blair laughed, low and a little shaky, and then he was lying on his back on the dock and Blair was over him like a blanket. The kisses, the touches that made him groan with pleasure and stretch out like a big cat being stroked, were fast and hard and wonderful. The sun was warm on his skin and Blair was nearly cool in contrast and the water lapped against the supports of the dock in a comforting rhythm. Jim's senses were going crazy, trying to take everything in and imprint it on some primitive, vital level, and it was only Blair's voice that kept him from zoning. 

"Come on, come on," Blair said and Jim licked his neck, lingering where his pulse beat. Blair laughed again, shaky like before, and shifted to kneel over him. "Let's go in," he said before rising. He held out a hand for Jim, but Jim felt mostly incapable of rising and just stayed where he was, looking at Blair's bare, hairy chest, his lightly furred stomach, his muscular legs. That was pretty much good enough for him, until he happened to look too long at Blair's erection straining against his swim trunks. 

He rose then, reached for Blair's wrist, gripped it hard. "Are you sure?" he asked, knowing it would likely annoy the kid, but knowing also that he'd feel like he'd left something unsaid if they didn't go over it one last time. 

Blair's eyes were calm. "Yes, Jim," he said quietly, like he wasn't annoyed at all, like he understood. "Are you?" 

And Jim nodded. He'd been sure for nearly a year now, sure through leaf-picking and angel-making and Beltane celebrations. It was time, and he was sure. 

The bed in the guest room of Simon's cabin had been made up first thing, in near-silence, with both of them knowing that they would share it later. The sheets stretched across it, cool and inviting, and they tumbled down amidst them. Jim took Blair's dick into his hand, rubbing his thumb across the head in the way he knew Blair liked best, then moved down until he could breath on the taut flesh his hands were shaping, until he could take it into his mouth and taste it for the first time. It was hot and bittersweet and good, and he would have stayed there forever if Blair hadn't arched his back and gasped, gripping Jim's short hair and tugging until he moved away. 

"Not yet, not yet," Blair said in between short, desperate kisses. "Let's take our time, all right?" 

Jim snorted. "Take our time? Now?" and then he laughed out right. 

Blair laughed too. "Ok, right, so that was a stupid idea. Let's go." And then the lube was in his hand and he was slicking Jim's dick. "You first," he said, and Jim thought about what _that_ meant. Groaned as his body swelled just a little more. Fell into possessing Blair like that was the first thing he'd ever wanted, and would be the last. 

The summer sun was setting by the time he'd come with a gasp and a series of short, quick thrusts, by the time Blair had murmured and arched slowly, sleekly, beneath him. It felt natural and good to collapse across Blair's back and kiss his spine, to rub his face against the broad shoulders, and it felt better when Blair wiggled over and wrapped his arms around Jim, seeking out his mouth for a kiss so slow and dangerously seductive that Jim felt his body tighten again. 

"That was good," Blair whispered, tracing his hands down Jim's back, rubbing here, scratching lightly there. "Wasn't it?" 

"You need a critique?" Jim bit at the curve of his neck, held with gentle pressure while Blair shivered. 

"Maybe a little one," Blair said, and laughed. 

Jim said, "That was better than mittens," then added, "actually, I was thinking it was even better than ice cream." 

"I was think that was better than...almost anything," Blair said, then he sighed. Jim hesitated, searched for good words, words that would be perfect, couldn't find them. All that seemed appropriate was "Thank you," so he said that. 

Then he had to ask, " _Almost_ anything?" 

"Well," Blair said slowly. "There's love. That's gotta be tops, huh?" and Jim smiled at him. 

"Yeah. It's tops." He tangled his fingers in Blair's hair and watched the kid's face crumple with something that looked almost like relief. "Absolute tops," he said quietly as he lowered his mouth again, and they kissed through laughter. 

* * *

End

 


End file.
